


Virtually Yours

by lamardeuse



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M, Undercover As Gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robbie goes undercover and gets more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Virtually Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lewis_challenge community on Livejournal, and inspired by a prompt from dreamingjewel.
> 
> Many thanks to Dorothy for most excellent beta and Britpick. Any remaining errors are mine.
> 
> Please see end notes for additional warnings.

Over the years, Robbie had learnt from experience that a day beginning with Innocent asking him to see her in her office rarely ended well.

He was surprised to see that Hathaway was already there when he arrived, along with WPC Julie Lockhart and Sergeant Gurdip Sohal. Hathaway looked – well, mutinous was the best word Robbie could think of, and the other two looked about as pleased with life as geese on Christmas Eve. “Ah, Robbie,” Innocent said, the false brightness obvious, “glad you could join us.”

Robbie smiled tightly before taking a moment to exchange pleasantries with Julie and Gurdip before taking the free chair between Gurdip and Hathaway.

“James has told me you have nothing terribly pressing in your queue at the moment –” Hathaway shifted in his chair at this “– and so I’d appreciate it if you could lend a hand with an important case that’s being addressed by our e-crime unit.”

Robbie tried to keep his expression neutral, but it was all he could do to keep from laughing. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but – you want me to help with something involving the internet? Isn’t that a little like asking a caveman to fly a Harrier?”

Julie snorted at that. “It won’t be painful, sir, I promise you,” Gurdip said, smiling as one might at a favourite – but slightly dotty – uncle. “The level of technical expertise required is minimal; we can walk you through that easily, and Sergeant Hathaway can help you with any problems that might arise.”

Robbie raised his eyebrows. “Okay, if you really think I can help you, I’m game,” he said. “What am I supposed to do?”

Innocent and Sohal exchanged looks, and Robbie watched, fascinated, as a whole unspoken argument went on between them. Of course, Innocent won, and Gurdip cleared his throat. “Yes,” he began, “well.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You might have warned me I was walking into that!” Robbie said as soon as Hathaway had closed the door to their office.

Hathaway’s cheeks hadn’t lost the pink colour they’d acquired during the meeting. “She dragged me in ten minutes before she got her hands on you,” he said. “I couldn’t escape. Even tried to text you when her back was turned, but she caught me.”

Robbie ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe they can’t manage this themselves.”

“Apparently there's no one on the e-crime unit who could pass for a middle-aged gay man searching the internet for sex,” Hathaway said, far too blandly for a man who had just spent the last twenty minutes blushing.

“Well, the last time I bloody checked, I wasn't the only old fart wandering around the office, so why did they have to pick on me?”

“My personal opinion? I think the Chief Inspector was fishing for opportunities for cross-departmental cooperation, which as we all know is the new catchphrase of the hour.” James paused for dramatic effect. “And then she decided to take the piss.”

“Bugger,” Robbie said, throwing himself into his chair like a petulant toddler. “I don’t want to do this.”

“It won’t be as bad as all that, surely,” James said. “And it’s an important case.”

“Yeah, I know.” Gurdip had detailed the situation clearly enough: over the last two months, four men in the Oxfordshire area had been assaulted in their homes and robbed after they’d given their address to someone on a gay chat site. The sites had been investigated, but it looked like a predator was simply using them to find well-heeled older men who could be easily overpowered. Julie estimated that at least five times the number of men who had come forwards may have actually been attacked – as Robbie knew, crimes connected with the gay community often went unreported when the desire to stay closeted or concerns about police inaction outweighed the desire to see justice done. “All in a good cause.”

“Why don’t we finish this paperwork and then knock off early? I can come by yours this evening and pick you up.”

Robbie shifted, remembering everything he'd agreed to: moving for the duration into a posh red-brick Victorian house being let by a professor away on sabbatical, with Hathaway joining him for 'protection'. The whole idea made him restless for no reason he could name. Probably just a function of being set in his ways; his flat wasn't much, but it was home, and he didn't like the idea of being uprooted, even temporarily. “I – erm. Fine. That’ll be good.” He blew out a breath. “You'll have to help me with the website, too. I'm a bit better than I was, but I'm still crap at navigating cyberspace.”

Hathaway stared at him for a moment, then bit his lip when it threatened to twitch itself into a smirk.

“Oh, shut your gob, I know words like ‘cyberspace.’”

“Yes, sir, but should you be allowed to use them in conversation? That’s the conundrum.”

Robbie leveled one of his better glares at him. “You’d best go fetch me a cuppa, Sergeant, before I’m tempted to hurl my false teeth at you.”

“Sir, right away, sir,” Hathaway said crisply, beating a hasty retreat as the smirk finally gained its freedom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hathaway took a long drink from his beer bottle before lacing his hands together and cracking his knuckles. “Ready when you are, sir,” he said bracingly.

Robbie leaned forwards to open the laptop that had been lying patiently on the coffee table among the now-empty containers of curry and pilau rice. He hoped the no doubt expensive wood of the tabletop wasn't going to absorb that vindaloo stain. “I suppose there's nothing else for it,” he sighed.

“Nothing at all,” Hathaway agreed. He dug a scrap of paper out of his jeans pocket and unfolded it. “Gurdip gave me this login and password – they set up the account today. Apparently you're a businessman with a chain of jewelry shops, in town to scout out a new location.”

“They thought I couldn't pass for a don, hm?” James shot him a glance, and Robbie waved a hand. “Oh, don't start. It's fine. I'd rather not try to pass meself off as the world's foremost expert on Keats.”

“I don't imagine you'll be called upon to quote a great deal of poetry,” Hathaway said drily. Robbie glared at him, then ran a hand through his hair.

“I don't have the first idea of what else I'd say,” Robbie admitted, anxiety hitting him full force as the reality of it struck him.

“Neither did I,” James said, “but I took the liberty of doing a bit of research today, studying the chat transcripts that were saved by one of the victims. They were quite – erm.” His cheeks took on that pinkish tinge again.

Robbie stared at him, trying to imagine what this research might have consisted of and failing. “Well, then –” he cleared his throat. “Why don't you –”

James shook his head. “Oh, no. I'm only here in an advisory capacity, sir. You're the heart and soul of this operation.”

“Cheeky sod,” Robbie muttered. The computer now warmed up, Hathaway opened the browser and navigated to the site.

“I'll bookmark the site for you so that you can find it again easily.” His fingers flew over the keys as Robbie watched. James had arrived at Robbie's flat earlier that evening wearing jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt that was so old it molded to every curve. Granted, Hathaway was mostly flat edges – Robbie had seen toothpicks with more meat on them – but there was a suggestion of muscle under the thin material that Robbie wouldn't have expected. Not that he spent a great deal of time thinking about his bagman's physique.

“Sir?” Robbie's head jerked up; Hathaway was watching him with a puzzled expression. “Did you want to –”

Robbie shook his head. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Woolgathering.”

“Well, then, here you are,” James said, turning the computer towards him. Sighing, Robbie picked it up and put it on his lap. He took a couple of minutes to study the webpage. His trumped-up profile was on the left, and on the right was his supposed list of requirements for a potential partner. Apparently he wanted well-muscled lads anywhere from eighteen (eighteen, Christ) to thirty-five, and preferred blonds – the hair colour of the attacker, as he'd been described. There was a message in red at the bottom of the page: _You have five new gentleman callers. Check them out!_

“You already have several invitations to chat,” Hathaway pointed out. He shifted closer on the couch and tapped his finger against the screen. “If you click here, you can see if any of them are online now.”

“Yes, I see that, thank you,” Robbie replied. “I still don't know what to say to them, though.” When James said nothing, Robbie sighed and muttered, “All right, then,” and clicked as directed.

Robbie let out a breath when he saw that none of the men who'd responded to his profile were currently online; at least now he'd have a chance to read through their profiles without pressure. “Where are those profiles for the ones Julie found?”

James flipped through the file and quickly dug up the information. The profiles created by the attacker had all been deleted by the time Julie and Gurdip had obtained warrants for the website's contents, but some of the victims had remembered parts of the text. The first thing James and Robbie did was pull up each profile to try to find any similarities that might give their suspect away.

After carefully studying each new profile, though, they came up empty. “He's clever, anyway,” Robbie muttered, sagging back on the couch. “He won't make it easy for us to find him.”

“Mmm,” Hathaway agreed. “Though I think the fourth one might be promising.”

“How so?”

“Something in the tone. Here, I'll show you.” Hathaway reached over to tap the mousepad and call up the profile. His arm brushed Robbie's in the process, and Robbie felt an odd little thrill go through him at the contact. Must be the case getting to him already; after all, it certainly wasn't the first time they'd worked in close proximity.

“You see here, where he talks about what he wants? There's a real aggression there, underpinning it.”

Robbie read the profile again. _I like to give it to you hard and fast, until you're screaming for mercy._ “Is it, though? I mean, some blokes – well, they like that sort of thing, yeah?”

Hathaway's eyes widened before he could regain his composure. “Yes, well –” he cleared his throat “– that’s a valid point.”

Robbie looked away, realising it sounded like he knew a great deal more about the topic than he was letting on. Which he didn’t, really; still, he clamped down on the urge to explain himself. After all, he was a copper with thirty years’ experience, not some wet behind the ears teenager. “I’m sure we’ll go through all of them, but he’s not online at the moment. Nor are any of them. Do we just wait around, then?” He wilted at the thought of trying to come up with dirty chat lines at two in the morning. Why had he agreed to this again? Right thing to do, yeah.

“Look, one of them just came online,” Hathaway said, pointing to the screen. “You can chat with him now.”

Robbie frowned at the screen. It wasn't the one they'd just been speaking about, but it was a start. “Wonderful,” he huffed. “I've still no idea of what to –” Before he could complete the sentence, a new dialogue box appeared on the screen with a soft _ding_.

_Hi! Want 2 chat?_

“Bugger,” Lewis breathed. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

“You can do it, sir,” Hathaway said, nearly in his ear. Lewis nodded, then turned his attention back to the computer. The cursor was blinking at him accusingly. If he didn't answer soon, he'd lose this one.

 _Not much of a chatter,_ he typed. _More of a doer._

Beside him, James snorted, and Robbie flushed. Everything he wrote was going to come out sounding like rubbish innuendo, wasn't it?

 _That's lucky_ , came the reply, _as it happens I'm craving a bit of hands on experience._

Robbie rolled his eyes; apparently he didn't have the market cornered on rubbish innuendo. _Good to hear it,_ he typed. When no response appeared, he turned to James, who was definitely bottling a grin. “Oh, shut up,” he muttered. “What do I do now?”

“Don't worry,” James said. “Most chat room denizens converse with more than one person at the same time. He'll be back.”

Sure enough, the computer beeped again. _You in the mood for something 2nite?_

Robbie glanced at James, who nodded. _Sure. My place or yours?_ He picked up the mouse to hit the send button, only to be stopped by James' hand reaching out and grabbing his wrist.

“Wait. What if he says to come over to his? We need to have control over the situation.”

“Well, he wouldn't if he was our man, would he? If he invites me over there, we'll know it's not him.”

James shook his head. “We can't be sure. He might be getting clever, changing his methods.” As though he'd just realised he was still holding it, he let go of Robbie's wrist as if it had suddenly caught fire. “I, erm, I remember Julie mentioning a man in Birmingham who'd lured victims to a hotel room, then assaulted them, tied them up and stole their keys before robbing their homes.”

“Yeah, okay,” Robbie said, erasing the _or yours_ before hitting the send button.

They both waited. Robbie considered taking another sip of his beer, then decided against it. He'd be needing a clear head.

 _Bugger_ , he thought. _What am I letting myself in for?_

The computer beeped again. Robbie took a deep breath before looking at the screen.

_Ten?_

Robbie checked his watch. An hour from now. _Looking forward to it._ He typed in the address, then sent it and logged off.

“Good job, sir,” James said. “You've successfully managed your first anonymous pickup.”

“I hope this is him,” Robbie muttered. “I don't fancy doing this more than once.”

“That's the spirit,” Hathaway said, patting him on the arm as he rose to clear away their supper dishes. Robbie sighed and let his head fall back against the couch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As soon as Robbie opened the door, he could see right away that the person standing on the step didn't fit the description given by the victims. He was at least half a head shorter and much more slightly built, with brown eyes instead of green.

Now that the bloke was standing right here, though, Robbie felt a bit odd just slamming the door in his face. _No need to be nasty to him just because he's sincerely hoping to have sex with you_ , Robbie thought, a little hysterically. “Hi there,” Robbie said, extending a hand. “You'd be Nigel, then.”

“Yeah,” the man said, taking it. “And you're Robbie.”

“I am, yeah. Come in,” he offered, stepping aside to allow the man entry. “D'you want a beer?”

“Sure, thanks.” Nigel's accent, Robbie decided, was Welsh, though the soft lilt had been worn thin by the years in England.

Robbie moved to the kitchen, Nigel following. “Newcastle all right?”

“All right with me,” Nigel said, smiling. “As it happens, I like the accent, too.”

Robbie snorted. “Thanks. You'd be one of the few people in Oxford who thinks so.”

Nigel took the beer Robbie offered and raised the bottle in a toast. “Well, we're not all posh arseholes. Though I'm not from Oxford originally, either.”

“Oh yeah? You're from Wales, then?”

“Just outside Cardiff,”Nigel said, nodding. “How'd you know?”

Robbie smiled. “I've a bit of an ear for accents as well.”

As they sat on the couch and drank their beers, Robbie tried to work himself up to the lie that he hoped would end the evening without much fuss. He'd rehearsed it in his head, but it was a little more difficult to drop it into the conversation, which actually went well. Nigel was a personable young lad, and under other circumstances they might have been friends. Robbie imagined he'd take the rejection without pitching a wobbler, but just in case, Hathaway was lurking in the darkened dining room down the hall, waiting to spring into action if needed.

Robbie realised belatedly that Nigel had stopped talking and was watching him with a small smile on his face. “What is it?” Robbie asked.

Nigel shook his head. “You haven't done this before, have you? I mean, hooked up with a bloke on the internet.”

Robbie shifted in his seat, heart racing. “How can you tell? Am I doing something wrong?” Bloody hell, he knew he'd be no good at this.

“No,” Nigel said, “it's only that I can tell how nervous you are, even though you're trying to cover it up.”

“Sorry,” Robbie said.

“Don't be,” Nigel said. “I think it's sweet. You're sweet.”

“Give over,” Robbie murmured, flushing. Nigel laughed, and before Robbie knew what was happening, he'd leaned in and kissed Robbie right on the mouth.

Robbie sat frozen for a moment, then gathered his wits enough to raise a hand to Nigel's face and cup his cheek. There was a faint trace of stubble under his fingers and on his upper lip, but other than that, it wasn't much different to kissing a woman, he supposed. Reminding himself that he was, after all, meant to be gay, he tilted his head and concentrated on kissing back. Nigel was actually a fairly decent kisser, and Robbie found it was easier than he expected to get into his role.

When they parted, Nigel smiled at him. “Less nervous now?”

Realising this was the perfect opening for his lie, Robbie said, “You're right – I was nervous, but that's not all of it. I, erm – I had a partner for a long time, and he left me recently. It was pretty rough. The thing is – you look a lot like him.” He looked away, hoping to lend added drama to the performance. “The resemblance is striking.”

“Oh,” Nigel said, face falling. “That's – not good.”

“I'm sorry,” Robbie said, and it didn't take much acting to look sincerely regretful; he felt badly for wasting the lad's time, if nothing else. “It's just – too soon.”

“I understand,” Nigel said gently, and Robbie breathed a mental sigh of relief.

“No hard feelings?”

Nigel raised his eyebrows, and Robbie felt his face get even hotter. “Maybe a little,” Nigel said archly, “but not the kind you mean.”

“You're a cheeky one,” Robbie said, chuckling in spite of himself.

Nigel grinned, then nodded at the bottle on the table. “Thanks for the beer.”

“Thanks for understanding,” Robbie said, and with that, Nigel stood and let himself out. When the door closed, Robbie sagged back against the couch and shut his eyes.

When he opened them again a few seconds later, Hathaway was standing in front of him with one of those enigmatic looks on his face. Well, enigmatic to most people, anyway: Robbie recognised it as the one he got when he'd done something the lad wasn't expecting.

“You have notes for me, Sergeant? How would you rate that performance?”

Hathaway's jaw muscle twitched. “Top marks, sir.”

“Thanks.” The muscle twitched again. “Is that all?”

Hathaway looked at Robbie, then away. “Well. I certainly wasn't expecting you to snog him.”

Robbie frowned. “He snogged _me_ , actually. And how did you know that?”

“When I couldn't hear the conversation any longer, I risked taking a peek.”

“Oh,” Robbie said. He wondered how much Hathaway had seen; he couldn't be sure, but it had seemed as though the snogging had gone on for a while.

“You were –” Hathaway straightened, shook his head. “I was concerned he might be – taking advantage.”

Robbie snorted. “He might be a bit younger and fitter, but I had a good three stone on him. I don't think you had anything to worry about.”

“Well, now that I know the – enthusiasm – with which you pursue your craft, I'll know better next time. Sir,” James added, though the honourific did nothing to remove the bite from his tone.

Robbie opened his mouth, shut it again. He was unreasonably irritated by Hathaway's attitude; it wasn't like him to be so judgmental, which meant there had to be something else behind it. He had no idea what was going through the lad's head, but he supposed the smart thing to do would be to talk it out.

The problem was, he and Hathaway weren't always brilliant at talking, and so he found himself saying, “See that you do, Sergeant. It's not my first time undercover, you know.” And because he was getting better at rubbish innuendo, he put just enough inflection on _undercover_ to make it sound like a euphemism.

Hathaway's eyes widened, and his cheeks flushed, and Robbie had just enough time to think _you bloody stupid old sod_ before Hathaway said coldly, “Yes, sir,” turned on his heel and left the room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two hours later, Robbie was lying wide awake, staring at the darkened ceiling. He was too keyed up to sleep; he and Hathaway hadn't ended the night well, and Robbie had let his own anger build until it took him over. He'd fumed for a good hour until he realised he had no bloody idea what he was angry about.

In all their years together, he and Val had never let an argument last til morning. In the next moment, he reminded himself that just because Hathaway was sleeping in the next room didn't mean they were a couple. Still, he knew that on the few occasions he'd really fallen out with James, it had gnawed at his insides in much the same way it had with his wife. Natural, he supposed, considering how important the lad had become to him over the last few years. Some days, his sergeant's quick wit and smartarse smiles were the only things that got him through. He supposed that had to count for something.

Yawning, he rolled over and swung his feet down off the bed. He wasn't sure quite what he'd say to Hathaway, but he was fairly sure an apology was in order. Then hopefully Hathaway would offer the same, and they'd be quits and he could get some sodding sleep.

Just as he was rising to his feet, however, his mobile beeped. Robbie scrubbed a hand over his face as he snatched it up and checked it. Hathaway had set up his account to email him whenever he received a chat invitation, and sure enough, that was exactly what had happened. This bloke wasn't one he recognised from earlier, though.

 _Camerado._ The name nagged at him, but he couldn't place it.

Quickly, he roused his laptop and checked the site to find that Camerado was still online. As he responded to him, he called up the profile in another window. Camerado described himself as _blond, too tall, too thin, inclined to doubt, inclined to love blindly, yearning for my life to begin._

 _Oxford type,_ Robbie thought, smiling.

Camerado had sent him a message. _Hello. I should warn you right now, I'm rubbish at this._

Robbie snorted. _Same here._

_No, really. I'm here under false pretences._

Robbie frowned. _Oh? Tell me more._

There was a long pause. _I don't just want an anonymous shag. So if that's what you're looking for, I'll stop wasting your time._

Robbie thought about it. By all accounts the robber had been keen to get to the victims as quickly as possible, but as Hathaway had pointed out, he could be changing his pattern. That could mean either becoming more bold, as Hathaway had suggested, or more cautious, like this bloke.

 _Or he could just be a nice young lad,_ Robbie thought. Either way, he'd expressed an interest in Robbie's fake profile, which meant he had to be investigated just like everyone else.

Robbie's hands hovered over the keyboard for a few moments before he replied. _That's not what I’m looking for, either._

 _That's good to hear,_ Camerado said. _You didn't seem like the sort._

_Now how do you know that? You haven't even met me._

_I read your profile,_ Camerado answered. _And I have a gift for reading between the lines. At least when it comes to other people._

 _Are you sure you're under thirty-five?_ Robbie asked. _You seem far too clever._

_Turning thirty-five next year. Though a friend of mine once called me middle-aged. I'm not the most exciting person._

_Exciting's overrated. I'm dead boring. In fact, I put myself to sleep sometimes._

_You're a bit ridiculous,_ Camerado judged after a moment.

 _It's my most charming feature,_ Robbie said, grinning as he settled back against the pillows, bringing the laptop with him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Robbie did not enjoy mornings as a matter of principle, but on mornings when he'd stayed up far too late, and would have to face a sulking James Hathaway across a breakfast table, his desire to get out of bed was almost nil.

Which is why he nearly fainted from surprise when he found his sergeant humming happily to himself as he stood in front of the hob in his stocking feet, preparing what smelled like a proper fry-up.

“You're a chipper one, aren't you?” Robbie muttered.

Hathaway spun round, and Robbie got his second shock of the morning: instead of wearing a pout, James' face was lit with a genuine smile. “Morning, sir,” he said warmly. “Orange juice and tea are on the table, and the eggs are nearly done.”

“What, no tomatoes?” Robbie quipped.

“In the oven,” Hathaway answered. Realising he was beaten, Robbie sank into a chair and poured himself a cuppa.

“I wanted to apologise for last night,” James said, as he gathered up strips of streaky bacon and placed them on plates. “I was out of line, and I'm sorry for that.”

Robbie watched him as he served the eggs and tomato, waiting until he'd sat down and they were facing one another before replying. “Thanks for that – and this,” he added, gesturing at his plate. “You had me a little worried, to tell the truth. It didn't seem like you.”

Hathaway took a sip of his tea. “Maybe it was too much like me,” he murmured.

Robbie frowned. “What does that –”

Which of course was when Hathaway's mobile rang. “Hathaway.” A pause. “Yes, ma'am. No, ma'am. One down, four to go.”

“Five,” Robbie said around a mouthful of eggs. Hathaway's eyebrows rose. “I got another one last night.”

“Excuse me, ma'am,” Hathaway said. “When?”

“About midnight.”

“And you didn't wake me?”

“No need,” Robbie said, yawning. “He only wanted to talk.”

Hathaway looked him up and down. “Is that all?”

“Yeah. I think he's shy. Either that or he's our bloke and he's being clever.”

Hathaway blinked, then returned his attention to the mobile. “Oh, yes, sorry, ma'am. Yes, right away, ma'am.” He rang off, looking about as hangdog as he ever did, and Robbie resisted the urge to laugh. Instead, he yawned again, and this time it was Hathaway's turn to frown.

“How late were you up?” he demanded.

“Oh, I don't know. About half two, three?” Robbie had lost track of time chatting with the lad, though he wasn't going to tell Hathaway that. Privately, he doubted Camerado was their suspect, but he told himself it was best to be thorough and eliminate all possible lines of enquiry.

Hathaway's frown turned into a scowl. “Oh, don't fret, Sergeant,” Robbie huffed, “the old sod'll have a nap later, all right?”

James opened his mouth, then shut it, shook his head and applied himself with renewed vigour to his breakfast. Robbie smiled and set to carving up his tomato.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And so they fell into a routine of sorts, with Robbie arranging three more “dates” with his gentlemen callers, while chatting with Camerado every night. To spare his sergeant's delicate sensibilities, he'd managed to avoid getting snogged on the first two occasions. The third one was a bit harder to say no to, unfortunately. He was the fellow who'd promised the object of his affections would be screaming for mercy, and it was clear from the start he intended to deliver on that guarantee. The moment Robbie opened the door, the bloke was over the threshold and backing Robbie against the wall.

 _Bloody hell._ Robbie's heart tripped into overdrive, and he cursed himself for letting the other man get the upper hand so quickly. Forcing himself to calm, he quickly calculated the best ways to incapacitate the bloke. He was tall enough to fit the description, if a bit on the lean side, but his eyes were the wrong colour. Eye colour could be changed, though, and the aggression matched what they'd been told by the victims.

“What's all this, then?” Robbie asked, keeping his voice even.

“This is what I do,” the man answered. He dipped his head and bit Robbie on the jaw, not hard enough to hurt, but nearly. Robbie's fists clenched.

“How about we get to know one another a bit, eh? I'm not so much for this wham-bam-thank-you-mister. Not in the first bloody minute, anyway.”

The man lifted his head. “I didn't come here for tea and biscuits, and you didn't invite me here for that.”

And then he kissed Robbie hard, and Robbie had his answer: this wasn't their bloke. In every robbery, the offender had swiftly overpowered his victims, then assaulted them. There'd been no sexual overtures at all, and in fact, he'd made it clear by his language that he found homosexuality disgusting. He might be changing his methods, but Robbie doubted he'd go that far.

And then the man tried to stick his hand down the front of Robbie's trousers, and Robbie thought, _right, that's enough._ He was just gathering the strength to push him off when he heard a polite cough from behind them.

The bloke broke off and spun round. Hathaway was standing in the door to the hall, arms crossed and a bland expression on his face.

“Darling,” he drawled, eyes fixed on Robbie, “what did I tell you about bringing home strays?”

Robbie hadn't the faintest clue what James was playing at, but he decided to go with it. “Oh, hello, love,” he said, “I didn't hear you come in.”

“I got back early,” Hathaway said calmly. “I was curious to see him.” His gaze flicked over the other bloke, then back to Robbie. “I must say I'm disappointed in your choice.”

Robbie drew himself up to hide the effect of the inexplicable thrill that ran through him. Bloody hell, what was _that_ all about? He cleared his throat and collected his thoughts before speaking. “I'm sorry,” he managed, after a moment. “I know he's not up to our usual standards, but he was all I could manage on short notice.”

The man bristled. “Now wait just a –”

“You will speak,” Hathaway said, in a tone as sharp as a knife, “when you're spoken to.” He stepped up to the bloke and jabbed a finger at his chest. “And you will not touch what's mine until you're told how and when to do it. Do you understand?”

Robbie flushed hotly at James' low-voiced words – _you will not touch what's mine_ – as the other man cursed and backed away.

“This isn't the way I work,” he snapped. The door slammed behind him, and Robbie jerked as if shot.

“Buggering fuck,” Robbie groaned, slumping against the wall.

“Very nearly,” Hathaway agreed. He stepped close and put his hand on Robbie's arm. “Are you all right, sir?”

“Yeah, fine,” Robbie sighed, straightening. “You might have warned me about the playacting.”

“It was a spur of the moment invention. An application of basic psychology: I could tell he wouldn’t fancy not being the one in charge.”

Robbie grunted and tottered over to collapse on the couch. “Makes sense. But we might have scuppered our chances to catch our criminal.”

“How so?” Hathaway asked, coming to sit beside him.

“Well, won’t he tell everyone on the site what happened tonight? Our baddie won’t want to play when he finds out I’m not alone.”

Hathaway shook his head. “I don’t think he'll tell anyone. Men like that don’t like to admit being made to play the fool.”

“Is that what you were aiming for?”

“Did I not succeed?”

“Oh, I’m sure you did. You just – seemed to enjoy it a fair bit.” Hathaway’s head snapped up, eyes wide, and Robbie realised the way it sounded. He fixed him with a mock glare. “Gunning for my job, Sergeant?”

Hathaway paused before speaking. “You’ve found me out, sir,” he said softly.

Robbie snorted dismissively and rested his head against the couch. “Hardly a challenge when you give yourself away.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_So what’s the story of the name?_

_It’s from a poem._

_Why am I not surprised?_ A reply popped up from Camerado – a link. Robbie clicked on it and scanned the page quickly. _Whitman. Heard of him, but haven’t read him._

_You should. He’s beautiful, lyrical, accessible. A poet for the people._

_Thanks for reminding me I went to a state school._

_You wear that like a badge of honour._

_And so it is, lad. And so it is. Headmaster who beat me daily, fifteen mile walk every morning, uphill both ways, hard tack and rancid beef for lunches, anything else I’m leaving out? I don’t want to disappoint._

_Funny. What do you think of the poem?_

Robbie read it more carefully this time. _Not a lot of God in it. I like it._

_He was a great humanist. And a romantic._

_Hm, yeah, it is a bit romantic, isn’t it? Is he talking about a man or a woman?_

_Whatever suits you best. Whitman seems to have done the same._

_He was bisexual?_

_Difficult to be certain since they didn't use those terms then. But it's believed he took lovers of both sexes._

_I had no idea they were so randy back in the olden days._

_Clearly you didn't study the Greeks in your beloved state school._

Robbie chuckled. _We knew they did terrible things, but no one ever cared to tell us what. Young, easily influenced minds, and all that._

There was a long pause. Just as Robbie wondered if the lad had disconnected, the message box pinged again. _I wish we could meet._

Robbie's heart sped up. This was the first time Camerado had mentioned meeting face to face. _Why can't we?_

_Because I know I'm not what you want._

Robbie frowned. _How do you know that?_

_I told you, I'm good at reading between the lines._

The thought that Camerado might have seen through his cover brought Robbie up short; bloody hell, he'd spent so much time chatting with him over the last few days – and enjoying it, if he were being honest – that he'd let his guard down to a potential suspect. He needed to craft a lie, because if this was their man, he'd need to gain his trust back somehow.

 _Well, you got your lines mixed up this time. I'd love to meet you._ Robbie hesitated before he clicked the send button, because he realised with a shock that he still wasn't lying. For some reason, he couldn't lie to this lad he'd never met, and he was damned if he knew why. Right from the start, he'd never pretended to be anyone else with him.

He hit send and waited. And waited.

 _Are you there?_ No answer.

“Bugger,” Robbie muttered, staring at the screen while his gut churned.

“Sir?” There was a soft knock on the bedroom door.

“Hang on,” Robbie called, swiftly logging off and shutting down the laptop. “Come in.”

James poked his head in. “I didn't mean to disturb you. I saw your light on and I was – concerned.”

“About earlier?” James nodded. “Nothing to worry about, lad. He didn't hurt me.”

Hathaway planted his feet as though bracing for a fight. “Just because you were playing a role doesn't mean it wasn't sexual assault.”

Robbie's eyebrows rose. “I suppose – well. I never thought about it that way.”

James ran an agitated hand through his hair, and Robbie frowned. “Here, c'mon,” Robbie said, beckoning, “sit down for a minute, yeah?” James stood frozen for a moment, then walked over to the bed and perched himself on the edge.

“Oh, give over, I won't bite,” Robbie growled. James ducked his head, then settled himself more comfortably. “This has hit you harder than it has me.”

“Yeah,” James said, glancing at Robbie briefly, “I reckon it has.”

Robbie waited a few moments to see if there was more; in the years since the Mortmaigne case, James had never spoken about what happened to him on the estate – or even whether or not anything had happened to him – and Robbie had known better than to push. He only hoped that if James had needed to talk about it with someone, he would have. James remained silent now, though, and Robbie continued. “I don't pretend to know a lot about the subject first-hand,” he said, “but I've seen some horror stories over the years. I know what it can do to you, and I know it might not hit me right away, so I'm not going to say I'm okay. But knowing you were there – that helped more than I can say. And if the bastard we're looking for shows himself, I know you'll be ready to back me up, whatever it takes.”

James sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, then blinked furiously. “Right, yeah,” he rasped, nodding. “That's – erm. Thanks.”

“James, lad,” Robbie murmured. Hating to see James in such obvious distress, he reached out without thinking and gripped his arm.

“Sorry,” James said, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I'm – tired, I suppose.”

“We're both stretched a bit thin,” Robbie agreed. “How about you leave off cooking tomorrow and I take you down the pub for breakfast, yeah?”

James turned his head to look at him. “Are you asking me on a date, sir?”

Robbie's breath caught in his throat for no good reason. “If you don't object,” he managed.

“I don't object,” James said softly, treating Robbie to a small smile. He reached across to squeeze Robbie's hand where it still lay on James' arm, then rose to his feet. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Robbie echoed, though his answering smile only lasted until James shut the door behind him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After the stress of the last week, it was almost a relief to nearly get punched in the gob.

Luckily, this time Robbie was ready for anything, and when his next date showed up at the door, it took him under half a second to realise that this man fit the victims' descriptions perfectly. Apparently he was more stupid than Robbie had expected, though, because the door was barely closed behind him before he whirled round and aimed his fist at Robbie's face.

However, Robbie had already put just enough distance between them, so that when he swung, it was an easy matter to take a quick step back and be a hairsbreadth beyond his reach. The man's fist connected with empty air, and when that move threw him slightly off-balance, Robbie was ready, coming at him from the side and delivering a knee to the cobblers to topple him the rest of the way. He crumpled in a whimpering, groaning heap.

Hathaway, who'd been rushing to assist, skidded to a stop beside Robbie. “Well, I see you've no need of my assistance,” he said. “Though I don't believe that's an approved method of suspect detention.”

“Terrible, the habits you pick up in state schools,” Robbie drawled. When James didn't answer, he looked over and was shocked to see him blushing. A nagging itch in the depths of his brain made itself known, but he resolved to ignore it for now.

“I'll give you the honour of restraining him, Sergeant,” he said crisply, and James seemed to shake himself. Fishing his handcuffs from a pocket, he crouched down beside the still groaning man and tugged his hands behind his back. As Robbie heard James’ voice reciting the familiar words of the caution, he felt the tension in his shoulders ease, and dug out his mobile to call for backup.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Excellent result,” Innocent said, bestowing her highest approval on Julie, Gurdip, James and Robbie.

“Thank you, ma'am,” Gurdip said. “Inspector Lewis and Sergeant Hathaway deserve most of the credit, though.”

“They were brilliant,” Julie gushed.

Robbie raised his eyebrows at her, and Julie grinned back. Dear lord, had he ever been that young and keen?

“I agree,” Innocent said. “Besides bringing a violent criminal to justice, the operation will strengthen our relations with the LGBT community. I'm proud of you all. Now go out and celebrate, the lot of you, and I don't want to see you back here until noon tomorrow.”

“Ma'am,” they all said in unison, the younger ones practically vaulting from their chairs in their haste to get away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They ended up at the James Street, and it wasn't long before Julie and Gurdip were more than halfway to pissed, euphoria taking them the rest of the way. As it turned out, it had been their first important case together, and Robbie was willing to bet it wouldn't be their last. As difficult as the last few days had been at times, he was glad he'd been able to lend a hand. They were nice kids, and good coppers.

Hathaway, however, wasn't the least bit euphoric – he'd managed to get drunk on beer alone. He smiled and laughed with the other two as they talked, but Robbie could tell the mood wasn't reflected in his eyes. That itch from earlier started up in earnest, and Robbie let it have its way, random thoughts careening about in his skull as he chatted and laughed with the rest of them.

He hadn't heard from Camerado last night, their last one in the flat. By the time they'd had their suspect sent to the station, processed and interrogated, neither of them had had the energy to do anything but collapse into the same beds they'd been sleeping in for the last nine days. Despite his exhaustion, though, Robbie had had a restless night, and had woken bleary-eyed and in need of the strongest coffee Hathaway could brew, which luckily was pretty damned strong.

He'd missed talking to Camerado, he realised. He'd become a reassuring presence, a friend of sorts – but then, he'd felt like a friend from the start. Familiar, known.

He looked over at Hathaway, who appeared as worn out as he felt. One of those random thoughts collided with another one, and the resulting explosion nearly took the top of his head off.

Christ. It was him. Robbie couldn't believe his stupidity – though if he were being honest with himself, part of him had known all along, hadn't he? More puzzling was why Hathaway had done it – after all, he'd sought out Robbie, spent hours chatting with him late into the night. Had it simply been an elaborate piss-taking, a chance to put one over on the boss? He dismissed the thought immediately, but Hathaway's ruse still upset him. Why couldn't James have been honest with him?

 _I know I'm not what you want._ He remembered Camerado's words on that last night. What did that mean, exactly? If he read between the lines, as his clever clogs sergeant liked to do, the implication was clear. But it was impossible. Hathaway didn't fancy him. He couldn't. Could he?

Robbie's gaze drifted to Hathaway's mouth. He thought about the other two blokes who had kissed him; the first one hadn't been unpleasant, but it hadn't done anything for him, either. But then, that had been work, and truth be told, not every woman he'd ever kissed had lit up his insides. What would it be like to kiss James? Gangly, clever, complicated, big-hearted, smartarsed James?

“Fancy another pint, sir?” Robbie started at Julie's question, and he realised he'd been staring at James for God knew how long. Good thing the lad had been staring at his own pint as though it held the secrets of the universe. “I'm buying this round.”

“Thanks, lass, but I'd better call it quits. Can't hold my drink as well as you young 'uns.”

Julie smiled. “Sarge?”

James downed the last of his beer and set it on the table with a _clunk_. “Thanks, but that's enough merriment for me, I'm afraid. I'm completely knackered.” Rising to his feet, he dug a couple of tenners out of his pocket and laid them in front of Gurdip over his protests. “Have a couple on the older generation,” he said. “You both deserve it.”

After adding another ten to the pile, Robbie rose as well. “I'll take you home,” he said to James, earning himself a sharp look.

“Thank you, sir, but I –”

“No arguments, Sergeant.” Leaning in, he murmured, “you're taking orders from me again.”

Hathaway's cheeks flushed and his lips parted slightly. _Bloody hell_ , Robbie thought; it was true, wasn't it? James fancied him.

And maybe, just maybe, he fancied James right back.

“Yes, sir.”

After saying their farewells to Julie and Gurdip, they strolled down the road to Robbie's car. A light rain had begun, and Robbie tilted his face up to the cooling mist.

“That's better. That pub was too bloody hot.”

“Mmm,” Hathaway agreed. “I was falling asleep.”

“You looked it.” Robbie paused, then ventured, “You had some late nights too, then?”

Hathaway's stride faltered a little. “The mattress in my room was uncomfortable,” he said stiffly.

“You should have told me.”

“There was nothing you could do about it.”

“I suppose we could have shared,” Robbie mused, and this time James did stumble. Robbie stopped, and before he turned around he bit his tongue to keep from grinning. “Are you really that drunk you can't find your own feet?” he demanded.

“No, I'm fine,” James muttered.

“I do wish I could have talked to Camerado again, though,” Robbie said after he and Hathaway had resumed walking. “I enjoyed chatting with that lad.”

There was a long pause. “No reason why you couldn't,” James said casually. “Though I suppose he'll be hurt when you have to say goodbye.”

“Who says I want to say goodbye?” Robbie asked softly.

This time, James stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

“Did you not hear me?”

James shook his head. “You can't be serious.”

“Why not?”

“Because it would be a lie,” James snapped. “You don't want to pursue a romantic relationship with a man.”

“I'd be more concerned with the age difference, actually,” Robbie shot back. “He said he was only thirty-four. Our Lyn's nearly thirty, for God's sake. Though he is a bit old-fashioned. Quotes more poetry than you do.”

James continued to stare at him, mouth slightly open. It wasn't a terribly attractive look on him. “You – you're telling me you're bisexual?”

“I don't honestly know,” Robbie said, raising his eyebrows. “I've been reading some Whitman, though, and I liked that. And I don't seem to mind kissing blokes. So I reckon that's enough to be going on with for now.”

“You – you –” James spluttered. “I think I'll – yes. I need to walk.”

Robbie couldn't resist a smirk. James' flat was about twenty minutes away on foot. “Are you sure you can manage it?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” James said coldly, and proceeded to stomp off in as dignified a fashion as a tall, drunken man could manage. Which was to say, not very.

“One foot in front of the other, now!” Robbie called after him, finally letting his grin out to play.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It took nearly an hour after Robbie returned home for his mobile to inform him that he had a new message from Camerado.

“About bloody time,” he muttered, powering up his laptop.

_Did you mean it?_

_Mean what, lad?_ Robbie asked.

_You said you'd love to meet me. Was that true?_

Robbie hesitated, then decided to play along. _Yeah. I meant it more than anything._

_I want to believe you, but I'm afraid. How can I be what you need?_

Robbie took a deep breath and thought, _time to stop playacting._ His fingers trembled a little as he typed, _Maybe because you always were and I was just too thick to know it._

There was a full minute of silence, and Robbie sat with his heart in his throat, worried he'd frightened the lad off for good.

After two minutes had gone by, he sent another message. _James. I want to meet you._

_I'm standing outside your door, bloody petrified._

Robbie burst out laughing. Springing to his feet, he flung open the door to find James on the other side. They stared at one another for a long moment. James was breathing heavily, as though he'd just run all the way from his flat to Robbie's.

And then he moved. The next thing Robbie knew, James had closed the door behind them and taken Robbie's face between shaking hands. “I've been told you don't mind kissing blokes,” he murmured. His thumb swept across Robbie's lower lip, and Robbie's knees actually went a bit weak. “Do you think you'll mind kissing me?”

Robbie lifted his chin. “Why don't you give us a try and we'll see?”

James leaned forward, and Robbie stretched up, and their lips brushed, light as air at first, then pressing slightly, then clinging, and oh, _Christ_ , Robbie thought, reaching up to pull James in, hands clenching in the fine material of his shirt. Now _that_ lit up his insides like a bloody great bonfire on Guy Fawkes Night.

“I can't believe it took you the better part of an hour to work out I was having you on,” Robbie murmured against his mouth when they parted.

James' lips explored Robbie's chin, nibbled beneath it. “To be fair, I was a little the worse for wine.”

Robbie stroked James' hair. “How drunk are you now?”

“Not much at all.” He kissed Robbie's Adam's apple, then buried his head in Robbie's shoulder and wrapped his arms around him.

“How tired are you?”

“Ready to drop,” James confessed to Robbie's neck, and they both chuckled. James lifted his head. “What about you?”

“The same,” Robbie admitted. “I'm gutted to say it, but I couldn't do you justice.”

“Just as well. I'm still in shock.”

Robbie smiled and cupped James' face. “Let's get some rest, then, eh, soft lad? And this time, I'll cook you breakfast in the morning.”

“Be still my heart,” James breathed, and Robbie cuffed him gently on the back of the head before tugging him down for another kiss.

 

 

 

_As I lay with my head in your lap, Camerado,_

_The confession I made I resume—what I said to you in the open air I resume:_

_I know I am restless, and make others so;_

_I know my words are weapons, full of danger, full of death;_

_(Indeed I am myself the real soldier;_

_It is not he, there, with his bayonet, and not the red-striped artilleryman;)_

_For I confront peace, security, and all the settled laws, to unsettle them;_

_I am more resolute because all have denied me, than I could ever have been had all accepted me;_

_I heed not, and have never heeded, either experience, cautions, majorities, nor ridicule;_

_And the threat of what is call’d hell is little or nothing to me;_

_And the lure of what is call’d heaven is little or nothing to me;_

_...Dear camerado! I confess I have urged you onward with me, and still urge you, without the least idea what is our destination,_

_Or whether we shall be victorious, or utterly quell’d and defeated._

 

\- Walt Whitman

 

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: attempted sexual assault, mention of sexual assault


End file.
